Page 9 of Delta
And this world needs her light.
It already has enough darkness.
“Tomorrow’s her birthday.”
“I’m aware,” I growl.
“Just making sure.” Tucker uncrosses his arms and pushes off the refrigerator. “Want me to hold the bag? Might be easier to beat it up if it’s not going anywhere.”
“No thanks.” I unwrap my hands. “It’s late, I’ll probably just call it a night now.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” I hang my wraps up, then grab my bottle of water on my way out the door. “Hier, Delta,” I call my dog, using the German commands they were all trained with as puppies. Easier to control your dog when few others can interfere.
He hops up from where he was lying and trots over toward me, ears perked, tail wagging.
Tucker whistles for Tango, who also joins us as we step out into the evening air. It’s nearly eleven at night, and the moon is high overhead, casting a silver glow over the ranch that’s been my home for my entire life.
If only it still felt that way.
Truth is…I haven’t felt at home anywhere in a long, long time.
I doubt I ever will again.
“You sure your good? I can come hang for a bit. Alice is wrapping up some work stuff.”
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks though.”
Tucker offers me a nod before he turns away.
“Hey, Tuck?”
He turns back toward me. “Yeah?”
“I’m really happy for you and Alice, I hope you know that.”
Tucker smiles. “I know, bro. Love you.”
“You too.”
Delta and I climb into the utility vehicle I drove over here earlier, then wait until Tucker has pulled his truck out of the way so we can head home. As soon as he’s out of the way, I make the five-minute drive over toward the acre of land my parents gave me to build my house on.
We each have an acre—including our youngest sister, Lani, though she’s still living in an apartment in town and hasn’t started building anything on her land just yet. Personally, I think she’s waiting until she finds her happily ever after, though she will never admit as much. Because that would mean having to admit to the torch she carries for our town’s sheriff, Gibson Lawson.
My home comes into view, a quaint single-story three-bedroom cabin that’s been my home since I built it a couple of years after returning to Pine Creek from my last deployment. It’s a good house. Sturdy. But that’s all it is to me—a structure built to protect me from the elements.
I thought time would make it feel more like home, but the truth is, no matter how many days pass—it’s still just a house. And I’m still a man—barely alive.
Used to the routine, I don’t have to call Delta as I climb out. He simply falls into a walk beside me while we climb the porch steps. I unlock the door, and he trots inside, so I follow, hanging the UTV keys up near the door and retrieving my truck keys and wallet from the counter.
With them in hand, I grab the glass vase I’d picked up earlier, add some water, then head out and lock up behind me. The wildflowers I planted in front of my house are the only part of this place that brings me any spark of joy.
Because they remind me of her.
Colorful, chaotic yet organized, beautiful—they’re Emma.
It’s a sweet kind of torture to look at them and see her, but it’s the closest I can get without dimming the light burning bright within her soul. So I take what I can, though it’s never enough to satisfy the starvation I’ve suffered since losing her.
